Mouse and Alistair stood where Eanrin had left them beneath the shelter of an oak tree, which the cat-man had told them was “kindly enough, but don’t tease it.”
With this warning, he had vanished, and the two of them stood, not speaking and carefully not looking at each other. They could feel shadows creeping along the forest floor, sliding smoothly over moss and stump and twig, reaching out to them. Not necessarily malicious, but curious like sniffing puppies, ready to growl or wag a tail at a moment’s notice.
Alistair glanced toward the girl, who stood with her hands folded—an attitude of prayer, perhaps. Of all the otherworldly things surrounding him, he somehow felt that she was the most otherworldly of all, though she was as mortal as he.
He wondered suddenly if he would live long enough to know her.
The young lord clenched his teeth, his fine face suddenly vicious. Just then he would have liked to take up his sword and hurl himself into an enemy, any enemy, be it real or imaginary, so he could feel that he was alive, so he could feel that there was yet some purpose in his being.
He turned to Mouse, and though she did not look at him, the muscles in her cheek tightened and she was aware of his gaze.
“I know,” Alistair said, “I probably shouldn’t say this.”
She did not turn or move.
“After all, it’s hardly the time,” Alistair continued, “what with my family home overrun with monsters, my mother captured, possibly dead, and us wandering through other worlds that shouldn’t exist. . . .”
His voice trailed away. He thought of the smoke above Gaheris. He thought of Lady Mintha, the last he’d seen her, her face pale with fury as she watched her dream for her child snatched away at a dying man’s whim. He thought of the earls, his shame, and the face of his strange, small cousin.
He thought of his dream.
Mouse, stealing a glance, found that Alistair no longer looked at her but stared instead at his own feet. The scar beneath his torn shirt looked white and dreadful in the half-light.
“Yes, well,” Alistair finished at last, “when I think about it, it’s not the time at all. Forget I said anything.”
The next moment, Eanrin came storming back, the Chronicler following, shamefaced. “Well, now that our fine little king has had a lovely stroll through the dulcet forest glades, shall we continue?” the cat-man snarled and stalked ahead, looking more like an affronted tom than ever, despite his human shape.
“Where did you go?” Mouse asked the Chronicler as the three of them fell into step behind Eanrin. She noted the dampness on his clothes and the water clinging to his hair.
He answered only with a shrug and a dismissive, “I fell behind.”
With this and no other excuse offered, the three mortals proceeded in silence.
Mouse kept her gazed fixed upon the small form of the Chronicler, determined he should not wander off again. She noticed how even in the midst of this company he kept himself aloof, as if he believed that he moved in his own separate world where none of the others could reach him. It was a false attitude. For all the outward show of armor, Mouse thought it covered little more than a tender heart, easily battered, easily broken.
She frowned. Had the scrubber misled her? Had she been wrong to believe that wizened, smelly old man to be the fabled Etanun? She thought of powerful Stoneye, reaching out to the great sword one moment, lying dead the next. And this little man, weak as a child, was supposed to do what Stoneye could not? He was supposed to carry the sword from the chamber, to bear it into the presence of the goddess? He would scarcely be able to budge it from the stone! It was too much.
But he was all the hope she had.
The Land Behind the Mountains was separated from the Between and the realms of Faerie by the many rivers that cut across its territory. The last time he was there, Eanrin had recognized the magical quality of those rivers—a protective barrier set in place by someone concerned for the mortals dwelling within. But of course, there were always ways to get around such protections.
Now Eanrin felt the Near World close at hand.
He stopped and waited for the mortals to catch up. When they hesitated, he beckoned impatiently. “Come closer, little ones,” he said. “Nothing to be afraid of.”
“Well, there’s you,” said Alistair, folding his arms and scowling at the cat-man.
Eanrin didn’t respond. He turned to Mouse. “We’re close to your world,” he said. “Do you see the gate?”
Mouse looked around. She saw nothing but Wood and more Wood. There was no sign of a break in the trees, no sign of a gorge. “There was a river where I came in,” she said.
“That’s nice,” said Eanrin.